


A Satinalia Story

by mahbecks



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, Language, Princess Bride References, Romance, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 16:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5463473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahbecks/pseuds/mahbecks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey, kids, did I ever tell you the one about the Inquisition’s first Satinalia?” </p><p>A chorus of no’s met his ears, and Varric settled back into the chair, preparing the narrative in his head. “I’ll have to tell you then. It was a cold winter in Ferelden that year, one of the coldest on record. And between you and me, that’s saying something. The Inquisitor’s Commander had been called away from the castle on business…”</p><p>A Secret Santa exchange fic :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Satinalia Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bushviper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bushviper/gifts).



> This fic was part of a Secret Santa exchange for the TMB group :)
> 
> I got the wonderful and amazing bushviper, and I'm so glad she liked it! <3

“Uncle Varric, tell us a story!”

Varric had to laugh as the group of children attacked him; they tugged at his arms and legs, pulling him towards the armchair by the fire. He was pushed and prodded all the way there, almost falling into a seated position. The children then arranged themselves into a semi-circle around his feet, staring up at him eagerly with eyes of green and blue. He looked over to Hawke, sitting at a desk across the room; she shot him an apologetic look, but didn’t lift a finger to help him from her black-haired brood.

He looked down at the rapt faces of the children. “A story?” he repeated, smiling.

“One we haven’t heard before!” the youngest, Bethany, piped up.

“That’s a tough order to fill,” Varric chuckled.

“Oh, please, you’ve always got more tales to tell,” Hawke drawled.

“Not ones that you want your children to hear,” he shot back. “Honestly, Hawke, do you want me to corrupt the next generation?”

Hawke chuckled. “Corrupt away, Varric,” she said, waving a hand grandiosely. “Carver’s already taught them how to curse, and I had to make Fenris hide the wine after Gareth found a bottle. Again. They’re hopeless cases.”

“I didn’t like it,” Gareth said innocently, his green eyes huge. “It tasted sour.”

“You don’t always drink it for the taste, kid,” Varric replied, ruffling the boy’s shaggy hair affectionately. Gareth scrunched his nose up at the motion, jerking away from the offending fingers.

“Then why would you drink it?” Bethany piped up.

“Well, you see…” Varric trailed off, searching for an age appropriate explanation of the joys of inebriation.

“It makes you feel funny inside!” Cora said eagerly, leaning forward on her hands. “That’s what Auntie Merrill said!”

“So does eating a bug,” Bethany retorted. “But people don’t go around eating bugs!”

“I eat bugs!” Gareth added eagerly.

“Ew!” Cora scrunched her tiny nose up in disgust. “You’re gross!”

“Am not!” Gareth snapped. “Girls are gross!”

“No, we’re not!” Bethany said, coming to her sister’s defense. “It’s boys who’re icky!”

“Alright, alright,” Varric said, hurrying to think of a story before the discussion of funny insides turned into a fight. “Let me see. A new story.” He paused, eyes roving around the room as he struggled to think of a tale. His gaze settled on one of the windows directly across from him; even in the darkness of the night, it was easy to see the heavy snowfall outside. Several inches had already accumulated on the sill, and the panes were starting to frost over.

He smiled. It reminded him of that first winter back in Skyhold. It had been a terrible winter, one of the harshest in living memory. It had been nearly impossible to get down out of the castle, the mountain passes entirely blocked with the snow. Curly had gotten trapped outside, returning from a mission to the Hinterlands.

Maker, what a mess that had been.

The Commander had been desperate to get to the Inquisitor, wanting to spend their first Satinalia together. Eventually, he’d scaled the walls of the keep, armor and all.

And then, of course, his fingers had gone numb, and then he fell, and the Inquisitor had had to shove his shoulder back into place.

Still… it was a good story.

“Hey, kids, did I ever tell you the one about the Inquisition’s first Satinalia?” A chorus of no’s met his ears, and Varric settled back into the chair, preparing the narrative in his head. “I’ll have to tell you then. It was a cold winter in Ferelden that year, one of the coldest on record. And between you and me, that’s saying something. The Inquisitor’s Commander had been called away from the castle on business…”

*

“Are you pulling my chain here? I think you’re pulling my chain.”

“Oh, I never joke about such things,” Dorian replied.

Varric leaned across the table, making sure to keep his cards close to his chest. “Do you really mean to tell me that your father had a diamond-encrusted chamber pot? That seems a little excessive, even for Tevinter.”

“Please,” the mage scoffed. “There’s no such thing as too excessive in Tevinter. Honestly, Varric, I’m surprised you don’t believe me! Surely they had an exquisite collection of chamber pots in Orzammar?”

“Well, seeing as how I haven’t been there in years, I can’t really speak on the current fashions.”

“Would it scrape your bum if you sat on it?” Sera interjected. “Sit down, and it’s all, ‘AH!’, and up you go, quick as an arrow in your face?”

Dorian shrugged. “I suppose it’s a possibility,” he allowed.

“Shite. Stupid prissy britches going around with bum scratches so they can have pretty piss pots.”

“If one has to have a pot to piss in located in the bedroom, you might as well make it pretty,” the mage said. “Or at least, that’s how the logic goes.”

Evelyn couldn’t help but smile at the random turn in conversation. That was one of the best things about having such an eclectic group of friends – she never knew what was going to happen next. Sometimes, personalities and opinions clashed and harsh words were exchanged. But other nights were like this – full of laughter and merriment, allowing them to forget their current problems with Corypheus.

The door to the Herald’s Rest swung open then, a gust of frigid air forcing its way into the room. Evelyn looked up just in time to see a heavily armored figure stomp into the tavern, shivering.

“Fuck me!” the newcomer declared, “but it’s bloody cold outside, even for Ferelden!”

“Hawke!” Dorian cried out. “You’re wealthy! Tell us, do you have a fanciful chamber pot in your house?”

“Do I get bonus points if it’s monogrammed?” Hawke asked, unwrapping the scarf from around her head. Her hair was longer than it had been the last time Evelyn had seen her, gracing the tops of her shoulders now. She shook it out, water droplets flying everywhere.

“What are you, a mabari?” Varric teased. He patted the seat beside him. “You’re just in time. We were going to start another round of Wicked Grace. You in?”

“Is Carver an ass?” she retorted. Having removed the last of her waterlogged gear, she took a seat at the table. She shot Evelyn a smile as she sat down. “Inquisitor. How’s it going?”

“It’s… going,” Evelyn replied.

Truth be told, she had been rather down for the last few days. It was nearing the end of the year, and Satinalia preparations were in full swing. Josephine had really outdone herself with the decorations, and morale was at an all-time high. The feast was tomorrow night, and already masked fools were running about the castle, bestowing gifts to the refugees and soldiers. She was looking forward to it.

But…

Cullen wasn’t here. He’d left for the Hinterlands last week, deciding to see to a group of Red Templars personally. They were smuggling red lyrium out of the Rebel Queen’s Valley, and he intended to put a stop to it. She’d not thought to refuse him – anything involving lyrium was very personal to him. She was more than happy to let him handle the destruction of the smuggling rings. At the same time, she wished he were here. It was their first Satinalia together, and she had hoped to spend it with him.

“I know that look,” Hawke said lightly, accepting the cards Varric dealt her. “Having trouble with the Commander?” 

“Not trouble, per say,” Evelyn replied. She looked down at her cards – not a bad hand. Perhaps she would do better this round than she had before.

“You miss him,” Hawke nodded. “Understandable. I know how it feels to not be able to spend holidays with the person you love.”

“No word from Broody, then?” Varric asked.

“Nothing,” Hawke murmured. She grew very quiet for a moment, blue eyes distant. Evelyn wondered what she was seeing, what memory she was recalling in her mind. But then the other mage blinked and smiled. “But enough of that. No need for me to bring down the mood!” She smirked at the rest of them. “So whose money am I taking tonight?”

“Not so fast,” Varric chuckled. “Ruffles is a shark. Don’t let the innocent act fool you.”

“Who, me?” Josephine asked lightly. She raised an eyebrow at the accusation. “I have been lucky tonight, Varric, that is all.”

“She’s observant, and damn clever,” Blackwall said. Josephine blushed at the praise, covering the smile she sent him with her cards.

“You two are adorable,” Dorian interjected. He turned back to Hawke. “But onto more pressing matters. Where do we stand on the chamber pot issue? Varric doesn’t believe me when I say that chamber pots are an art form in Tevinter.”

“I see no reason to put diamonds on a bowl that will then be filled with shit,” Varric said firmly.

“Reason?” Dorian repeated. “Who said anything about needing a reason? It’s purely for aesthetics!” 

“Mine doesn’t have diamonds,” Hawke said. “Though it is solid gold. Mother insisted.” She rolled her eyes.

“See? Not so unusual after all!”

“Enough of this!” Cassandra snapped, suddenly jumping into the conversation. “I thought we were playing cards!”

“How about you, Seeker?” Varric asked, eyeing her. “You’re royalty. Have a shiny chamber pot?”

“I have no time for such frivolities,” Cassandra replied, looking down at her cards. She paused, and then looked up. “But… my uncle had one. I think. It was a long time ago.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow at their group. “This is really the conversation you’re having?” she asked. “It’s Satinalia, and you’re discussing lavatory ornamentation?”

“Oh, alright,” Dorian sighed. “I’ll leave it be.”

They made it through two more rounds before Dorian couldn’t take it anymore and resumed the discussion of the chamber pots. Cassandra left with a disgusted huff, insisting that she had better things to do, and Josephine and Blackwall sidled over to their own corner for a… more private conversation. Evelyn smirked at that – good for Josie!

Hawke tapped her on the shoulder and gestured to the bar. Evelyn took the hint and together, they walked over to the bar. Cabot sidled over to them, the usual dour expression on his face. “What’ll it be?” he asked.

“A whiskey for me,” Hawke said, leaning on the counter.

“And a glass of white wine, please,” Evelyn said. The dwarf left, returning shortly with their drinks. Evelyn sipped her beverage delicately, but Hawke threw hers back all at once, tapping her glass on the counter for a refill.

“So, as enthralling as the discussion of gilded pisspots was… might I ask where the Commander is?”

Evelyn shrugged. “He’s out on a mission,” she replied. She took another drink of wine. Cabot came to refill Hawke’s glass; this time, when the mage brought the whiskey to her lips, she only sipped. “We got wind of some smugglers taking red lyrium out of the Hinterlands.”

“Hmm.” Hawke paused. “You know, I knew Cullen back in Kirkwall. Did Varric tell you that?”

“He mentioned it,” Evelyn said.

Hawke snorted. “He was… a royal pain in my ass. Such a stickler for the rules.” She shook her head fondly. “But he wasn’t cruel. He followed orders, such as they were, but he stood up for the mages when it counted. In the end, I was proud to say that I knew him.”

“Was he very different then?” Evelyn asked. Instantly, she was reminded of her and Cullen’s earliest conversations. They had talked of their pasts quite freely, and she’d gotten the opportunity to hear Cullen’s prior thoughts on mages. It had made her wary at first, but she’d quickly learned that the Commander had changed. She wondered if Hawke had noticed the shifting of his views as well.

“Very much,” Hawke answered, drawing Evelyn from her thoughts. “He’s more easygoing now. Wiser. He understands that some things, like magic, aren’t as black and white as some people like to believe.” She smiled. “Honestly, I think you’re the cause.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” Hawke said, laughing. “This is the happiest I’ve ever seen Cullen. Though, considering he used to live in Kirkwall, I’m not sure that’s saying a great deal.”

Evelyn liked the idea that perhaps she had softened the Commander’s heart. He had certainly had that effect on her; a life in the Circle hadn’t exactly endeared her to the idea of love. But Cullen was so earnest, so genuine in his thoughts and emotions… if she were the cause of it, then she was more than happy to reap the benefits.

“I do miss him,” she admitted.

Hawke tipped her glass. “I can recognize a pining look when I see it,” she grinned. “I’ve had altogether too much experience in the longing department.”

“With Fenris?” Evelyn guessed.

Hawke choked on her whiskey. “Shit!” she breathed.

“I’m sorry,” Evelyn said hastily. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“No, no,” Hawke said, waving a hand. “I just… his name, it… well, tits.” She sighed. “Look at me. Just the sound of his name makes me flustered. Men.” She paused to clear her throat. “He’s fine. _We’re_ fine. I don’t see him as often as I’d like, but we don’t always get what we wish for, do we?”

“Maybe someday you’ll get the chance,” Evelyn suggested. “Maybe both of us will. We can get away from all of this and have happy endings.”

“Here, here!” Hawke downed the rest of her whiskey, and Evelyn, her wine.

The door banged open for the second time that evening, but this time, it was a soldier. “Inquisitor!” he cried, running over to where Evelyn stood. He gave her a salute before continuing his tale. “It’s the Commander, ser! He’s returned!”

His words filled Evelyn with a rush of energy, her breath catching in her throat in excited surprise.

“He managed to get up the mountain?” Hawke asked, raising an eyebrow. “Damn! Good on him! I had to melt the snow with fireballs to make my way up here. I wonder how Cullen managed…”

“Wait, but aren’t the gates to Skyhold closed?” Evelyn asked, frowning. They had had to lower the portcullis – the snow was too deep to pass, and it was still falling. They’d ordered everyone to stay inside the keep until the storm had passed. She turned to Hawke. “How’d you get in?”

Hawke smirked. “I have my ways,” she said.

“You’ve been around Varric too long,” Evelyn said dryly, to which the other woman only laughed. She turned back to the soldier. “How is the Commander to get back into the castle?” she asked.

The man shook his head. “No, ser, you don’t understand. He’s already here!” He launched into an elaborate explanation then, complete with wild gesticulations. Evelyn listened with increasing disbelief, Hawke sniggering with glee beside her. When the man was finished, he looked up at her anxiously. “Will you go to him, ser? 

“Let me see if I have this correct,” Evelyn said flatly. “The gate was closed when the Commander returned. But instead of doing the sensible thing, and letting him in, you allowed him to scale the walls – and somehow, he managed to succeed! Only then he fell down the ramparts and dislocated his shoulder because one of you didn’t think to _give_ _him_ _a_ _hand?!”_

“W-we were t-too startled, ser!” the soldier protested. “We d-didn’t expect him to c-come over the walls!”

“This is too much,” Hawke said, wiping her eyes with a finger.

“I hope you’re enjoying this,” Evelyn snapped.

“Oh, trust me, I am!”

Evelyn turned back to the soldier, irritated that he was still just standing there. “What are you waiting for?” she snapped, motioning to the door. “Take me to him!”

“Y-yes, ser!” He gave her a shaky salute and scurried out the door.

Evelyn huffed and made to follow him. Hawke was close on her heel as she moved outside, drawing her arms around her body against the cold. The snow was almost blinding, it was coming down so fast now. It was hard to see the ground five feet before her. She hunched over as she walked, trying to shield her face from the worst of the wind.

Had Cullen really climbed the castle walls in this? Impossible! Surely he wouldn’t have done something so risky!

She was grateful for the brief respite when they came to the castle walls, allowing herself to huddle against the stone walls for a few moments. Bracing herself, she then raced up the stairs, trying to prepare herself for the brisk wind. It hit her like a brick to the face, and she staggered back. Hawke caught her, pushing her forward to where the messenger was waiting at the entrance to Cullen’s office.

“Come on!” she cried. “Just a bit further!”

Together, they managed to make it into the tower. Evelyn sagged against the wall in relief, lungs heaving with effort. Hawke was in a similar state, pushing her dripping bangs out of her face. “That was easier said than done,” she breathed.

Evelyn nodded. She’d never seen a snowstorm this bad; neither had any of the Fereldans, from what gossip she’d heard. It was unusual, and just their luck. She was glad that the Satinalia festivities provided her with an excuse not to leave the castle; the thought of going out in this snow filled her with dread.

At least she’d remembered to have the soldiers put a tarp over the hole in Cullen’s roof. If they hadn’t, the entire tower would have been filled with snow by now.

She pushed herself up from the wall then, looking around the office. A group of several soldiers were crowded around his desk, each of them looking very cold and chilled. Based upon their ice-encrusted armor, she trusted these were the men Cullen had taken with him. Had they scaled the walls as well? Or had they been willing to wait, petitioning the gatekeepers to let them in?

“He’s up there, Inquisitor,” one of them said through chattering teeth, raising a shaking finger to the loft above the room.

Evelyn nodded her thanks and dismissed them, waiting until she and Hawke were alone before she set about climbing the ladder. She forced herself to take her time so that she wouldn’t trip, but her heart was racing in her chest. It was a combination of the anticipation of seeing her lover mixed with anger at his stupidity and worry for his injuries.

It was a toss-up which emotion would win out and direct her behavior.

Finally, she reached the top of the ladder. With a slight grunt of effort, she pulled herself through the hole, her cold fingers protesting the movement.

“There you are.”

Her stomach flip-flopped at the sound of his voice. Holding her breath, she turned around. Cullen was sitting on his bed, a pained grimace on his face. He was holding his shoulder very carefully, doing his best not to move it.

“Cullen,” she murmured, walking over to him. She winced at the disjointed appearance of his shoulder, not envying the injury. He must have been in incredible pain, and yet his only tell was his knuckles, clenched into tight fists.

“I’m sorry about this,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Truly I am.”

She laid a hand on his good shoulder, shaking her head. “Scaling the walls, Cullen?” she asked. “What possessed you to do such a thing?”

“I’m perfectly capable of scaling castle walls,” he huffed, frowning. “And I got to the top without any difficulty! I just… didn’t stick the landing.”

Behind them, Hawke snorted in amusement. “The snow and ice on the walls didn’t even faze you,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Of course not,” Cullen snorted. “I’m a native Fereldan, Hawke. I am not daunted by the cold weather.” He turned back to Evelyn then and motioned to his shoulder with his good hand. “But this does smart a bit. Could you… perhaps help me?”

“It smarts a bit,” a dark voice ventured from the ladder. Evelyn turned around just as Dorian began to walk over to them, Bull close behind him. The mage spread his hands wide in greeting. “Good evening, Commander! I must say, you have an interesting way of describing your injuries! ‘Smarts’ isn’t quite the word I’d use.”

“Hello, Dorian,” Cullen replied, rolling his eyes. “Bull.”

“You’ll want to set that,” the Qunari said, pointing to his shoulder. “Need me to pop it back in?”

Cullen lifted an eyebrow at that. “You know how to set dislocated joints?”

“Sure,” Bull said, popping his knuckles. “We’re trained in basic field medicine, in case we can’t get to a saarebas or a medic in time." 

“You should take him up on it,” Dorian suggested. “I’m afraid there’s not much magic can do for dislocated joints. And Bull has a surprisingly delicate touch with these sorts of things!”

“Whaddaya say, Commander?” Bull asked.

Evelyn smiled at the concerned look her lover sent her. “I’m afraid Dorian’s right,” she said quietly. “I can’t fix that with magic. I can ease the pain afterwards, but it’ll need to be set by someone who knows what they’re doing.” She stepped out of the way, motioning the Qunari forward. “Bull?”

“Right away, Boss!”

Without another word, Bull hopped on the bed behind Cullen, inspecting the injury. Every now and then, he would make a humming sound – it seemed to annoy the Commander to no end, if the eye rolls he kept making were any indication. Once the inspection was finished, the Qunari positioned his hands on Cullen’s torso, being careful not to press too hard.

“You ready?” he asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Cullen grumbled.

Bull shrugged. “It’s gonna hurt,” he replied.

“It already hurts!" 

“On my count then – three… two…”

“Maker’s breath!”

Evelyn winced at the terrible popping sound, as did Dorian and Hawke. Cullen glared up at Bull, who’d stepped back at the slew of curses that spewed out of the Commander’s mouth. “What happened to one?” he demanded crossly.

Bull shrugged again. “Wanted to keep you on your toes,” he replied.

“Keep me on my…” Cullen shook his head. “Of all the flaming… hmph. Thank you for your help.”

“Anytime, Cullen,” the Qunari said, saluting the blonde man with a wide grin.

Evelyn rushed forward then, eager to play her part. She laid her hands on his shoulder, keeping the pressure as gentle as she could, and poured her healing magic into the injury. Cullen tensed at first, but then relaxed into her touch, the strain in his features melting away as she eased the pain. “Thank you,” he murmured, turning to give her a small smile.

His gaze stayed on her, roving over her figure appreciatively.

“Feeling better?” she murmured, just loud enough that he could hear. 

“I’ll feel much better when we’re alone,” he replied, the corner of his lips twitching.

His low, husky voice made her shiver, desire lancing through her like lightning. She turned back to her companions. “I’d like to speak to the Commander alone for a moment,” she announced.

Her intentions weren’t lost on them.

A gleeful smirk spread across Dorian’s face. “Of course, my dear,” he said, stepping towards the stairs. “I wouldn’t want to… interrupt.”

“Yeah, Boss, no problem,” Bull chimed in. “Just be gentle with him – he shouldn’t use that shoulder for a while. But I’m sure you can find the right positions, eh?”

“I assure you she can,” Cullen said firmly.

Hawke laughed at the two of them, fixing Cullen with a fond gaze. “You’ve changed so much since Kirkwall, Cullen,” she teased. “But I think it’s for the better.” She stepped forward and clapped Evelyn on the shoulder. “Take good care of him, Inquisitor. Don’t be too rough.”

With a wink, she departed, followed closely by Dorian and Bull.

The ensuing silence was deafening.

Evelyn turned back to Cullen, moving her fingers from his shoulder to his face. “I missed you,” she murmured, palming his cheeks with her hands. The stubble of his beard was longer than normal from his days on the road; it tickled the smooth pads of her fingers. He melted beneath her ministrations, leaning into her touch like a cat.

She traced the square length of his jaw, and then his firm, round chin. When her thumb reached up to trace his lower lip, he shivered, drawing the digit into his mouth and lightly biting it. The move sent a fresh wave of heat through her body.

Emboldened by his eagerness, she took another step forward, forcing his legs wider with her knees. He quickly moved to make room for her, hands coming up to frame her waist. “I missed you too,” he said, burying his face into her chest.

She gently buried her fingers in his hair, curling from the snow, and tilted his head back so that she could see his eyes. They were filled with heat, molten with desire, but beneath that was love, and joy. 

Maker, how she loved this man.

Their lips met with a crash, Cullen pulling her down into his lap with a groan. Evelyn pressed her body flush against his, relishing the feeling of his naked flesh against her chest. Without breaking the kiss, she reached down to grasp the hem of her shirt –

* 

“Hey, hang on!”

Varric paused as Gareth pushed himself up on his knees, little arms on his hips. “Is this a kissing story?” he asked, his expression adorably serious.

“Kissing?” Bethany asked, scrunching up her nose. “Ew!” 

“What’s wrong with kissing?” Varric asked. 

“I think it’s romantic,” Cora sighed.

He wasn’t sure how the five-year-old had managed to learn about romance, but he was pleased that at least one member of his audience was enjoying the story.

“No kissing!” Gareth said adamantly.

“Yes, Varric, please, no _kissing_ ,” Hawke drawled. She winked at him. “The horror!”

Varric rolled his eyes. “Oh, fine,” he muttered. “Have it your way. But it would really make the story better!”

“I bet. No kissing.”

“Spoilsport.”

*

They came together fluidly, bodies melding together perfectly. The dance was familiar to them by this point, hands instantly moving to the most intimate, sensitive spots on the other’s body, teasing out breathy sighs and ragged moans. They could have spent minutes or hours loving each other – it was difficult to tell. And truthfully, neither of them cared. They were together, and that was all that mattered.

The next morning dawned bright and cold.

Evelyn was loath to leave the warmth of the blankets. She tucked her legs beneath her, curling onto her side. Behind her, Cullen grumbled in his sleep, tightening the hand upon her waist. She wriggled around, trying to get a glimpse of his face.

“Go back to sleep,” he huffed, tucking his head into her neck. 

She let out a soft laugh. “You, sleep past daybreak?” she teased. “We can’t have that. What will your men say?”

“That I finally found some sense,” he muttered.

She smiled, reaching up to card her fingers through his hair. He swatted her hand away. “That tickles,” he murmured, fighting hard to fall back to sleep. But she would not be denied.

“Get up!” she said, giving him a playful shove. He rolled over onto his back, finally opening his eyes. He shot her a dour scowl, but made no move to go back to sleep. Instead, he sat up, wincing as the motion jarred his injured shoulder. He rotated it a few times to get the stiffness out before pulling it across his chest and stretching the muscles.

“How’s the shoulder?” Evelyn asked.

“It’s been better,” Cullen replied. “But I’ll manage.” His hand dropped down to his side, and he looked to her. “Alright, you. I’m awake. Was there something you needed, or were you simply intent on getting me out of bed?”

“I’m much more interested in getting you _into_ bed,” she smirked, drawing a deep, rumbling chuckle from him. “But there was something I wanted to give you, yes.” She rose, taking the blanket with her and draping it over her shoulders for warmth. Cullen’s eyes were intent on her back as she walked over to the chest across the room. It was full of old trinkets and books that he’d brought with him from Kirkwall. He almost never opened it. As such, it was the perfect place to hide his Satinalia present.

She flipped open the lid easily and reached inside. The gift was heavy, and it took no small amount of effort to carry it back to him.

Cullen eyed the gilded Orlesian paper with trepidation. “What is this?” he asked warily, reaching to touch the silk ribbons holding the wrappings together.

“A gift,” she replied. “For Satinalia, of course." 

“Evelyn, you didn’t have to get my anything.” Despite the semantics of his words, his tone was pleased, and the smile he gave he was wholly gratifying. She watched with bated breath as he tore at the paper, revealing the present beneath. Did he like it? She’d agonized over what to get him, wanting it to be just perfect. Of course, she hoped that this was the first Satinalia of many. If he didn’t like this gift, she would just have to try harder next year.

But she really wanted him to like it.

 

“This is…” Cullen trailed off, looking back up at her. “I can’t believe you managed to find them. I never managed to find a full set!”

“You didn’t,” Evelyn said, a touch smugly. “Josephine, on the other hand, can find practically anything, if you give her the time.”

“I love them,” he announced, touching the spines of the books before him reverently. “And they’re in such wonderful condition!”

“We’ll make a scholar of you yet,” she teased, bumping his good shoulder playfully.

He snaked an arm around her middle and pulled her close. “Would you like that?” he murmured. “A scholarly lover?”

“Hmmm, that depends,” she replied, leaning into him. “ _Does The Decline and Fall of the Tevinter Imperium, and the Subsequent Rise of the Powers of Thedas: A Military History_ , volumes one through seven, contain anything that I would find interesting?”

“Probably not,” he snorted.

“Perhaps I can get you a pair of spectacles then,” she suggested. “Put those on, smudge some ink on your fingers, and you’ll be positively academic!”

“Will I now?” he asked. He drew her down into a warm kiss then, his hand settling on the curve of her neck. “Thank you, Evelyn. This is… perfect.” 

“You’re welcome.”

He leaned back, reaching for the trousers he’d shed so hastily the night before. “I have something for you as well,” he admitted, reaching into a pocket. “It’s nothing so grand as this, I’m afraid, but… well. It’s something I want you to have.”

Cullen took her hand and pressed something into her palm. Curious, Evelyn sat down before him and opened her fingers. A slender chain lay on her palm, a coin serving as the pendant. “It’s for good luck,” he quickly explained, seeing the inquisitive expression on her face. “My brother gave this to me before I left for the Templar Order. It wasn’t much, just a token he had in his pocket.” He paused, watching her play with the coin for a moment. “He told me that it was for luck. I… wasn’t supposed to keep it, really. Templars aren’t encouraged to keep mementos like this… our faith is what should sustain us.”

“You broke the rules?” Evelyn asked, lifting an eyebrow. “How scandalous.”

He chuckled at that. “You’d be surprised at how many rules I bent in my time with the Order,” he said, a touch of mischief in his voice. “Regardless of what Hawke says.” He watched her as she lifted the chain to her neck; it was long, the coin settling in the valley of her breasts. With a gentle hand, he reached out and touched it, the soft touch giving her gooseflesh. “But it has brought me luck, in a strange sort of way.”

“Why give it to me?” she asked, touched that he’d given her something that was so precious to him. Her gift had been nice, thoughtful even.

But the pendant meant so much more than that.

“There are dark days ahead of us,” he murmured, pulling her towards him so that their foreheads were touching. “I know it’s superstitious, but if this brings you as much luck as you has brought me…”

She kissed him, knowing what he had left unspoken between them.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I’ll treasure it, truly.”

“As I treasure you.”

This time, he kissed her, and she didn’t hesitate when he drew her back down to the sheets.

*

“More kissing?”

Varric chuckled at the look of sheer disgust on Gareth’s face. “Alright, alright, I can take a hint,” he said. “The Inquisitor and the Commander shared their gifts and then roused the rest of the castle for the feast. It was the best meal any one of them had ever had – twelve courses in all! And the entire time, the snow continued to fall, making Skyhold look like a winter wonderland. The end.”

“I liked that story!” Bethany said, clapping her hands together.

“Me too!” Cora agreed.

“Gareth?” Varric prompted when the lone boy was silent. 

“It was… alright,” he finally allowed. “But too much-”

“Kissing,” Hawke finished for him, swooping in to pick up her son. “We know, Gareth. Now come on, let’s get you lot to bed.” She motioned for Cora and Bethany to follow her before shooting Varric a smile. “Thanks for entertaining them, Varric.”

“Anytime, Hawke,” Varric replied. “I need honest reviews, after all.”

She snorted. “They’re nothing if not honest,” she said.

“They take after their mother." 

The silence that followed was strangely comforting.

Varric wasn’t used to a lot of silence; there was never a dull moment at the Hanged Man, nor was there was peace and quiet in Hawke’s company. But tonight he supposed it was alright, pouring himself a brandy.

Tonight, the serene silence of the first night of Satinalia was perfect.

He thought he’d sit there for a few more minutes, watch the snowfall. _Yes_ , he thought, taking a sip of the brandy. _That sounds nice_.

And that was exactly what he did.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :) And Happy Holidays to all!


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